


Full Circle

by golden_redhead



Series: Saioumota Week 2018 [5]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Living Together, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prompt: Seasons, Saioumota week 2018, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Virtual Reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 05:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16078973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_redhead/pseuds/golden_redhead
Summary: Kaito makes them move together into his apartment as soon as they can leave the hospital, because of course he does. Even outside the game he seems to be determined to uphold his heroic persona from the game, no matter how fake it truly is. Shuichi can admire that, if only because it gives him an excuse to do the same thing and keep the personality provided him by Team Danganronpa. He likes this version of Kaito anyway. Just like he prefers the one he got himself.He doesn’t mourn the old Shuichi, the one that died the moment he signed his name on the contract shoved into his hands by one of the Team Danganronpa representatives. If there’s one good thing that came out of this sick mess is that it opened his eyes wide enough to see his old self in all of its disgusting glory. All he wants to do now is to bury that Shuichi, the one with drool dripping down his chin and crazed eyes and Danganronpa merch scattered all across his room and–Easier said than done, he thinks bitterly as he stares at his own reflection grinning wildly back at him in Kaito’s crammed little bathroom.





	Full Circle

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you @asteril for once again being the greatest beta I could wish for.  
> And shout out for the organizers of the Saioumota Week! It was a really fun experience and an interesting challenge and I'm happy that I could participate in something like that. It was also really great to see all the content that other fans created!

_(winter)_

 

Their lives start with death.

 

It’s different for each one of them. Nonetheless, it’s still death, no matter what form it takes.

 

For Kokichi it’s a desperate scrambling for any resemblance of control. It’s hot tears rolling down his face when --- finally, at last --- no one can see them, when the cold surface of the hydraulic press burns his skin and he can only watch as the death descends --- too slow and yet too fast --- to squeeze the life out of him, leaving only deceitfully pink blood and a guilty astronaut clutching a notebook in his bloodstained hands.

 

For Kaito it’s guilt gnawing in his throat at the memory of what transpired in the quiet of the exisal hangar. It’s blood dripping down his chin, the lack of heavy comfort of the weight of his coat on his shoulders and plain bitter irony of ‘the stars have never being this close’ when the time of his execution finally comes and he has to face all the dreams that never had a chance to come true. It’s the sight of the usually fierce eyes of a girl who thought she loves him welling with tears and regret painted all over the detective’s face when he murmurs his goodbyes shortly after sentencing him to death.

 

For Shuichi it’s the too bright light of the artificial sun as it shines above their heads in the world that’s far from real and deceivingly familiar at the same time. And then it’s the too bright light of the hospital room blinding him, sterile white surrounding him from every corner. It’s the survivor’s guilt, as his therapist called it (despite the fact that there are no victims here, only volunteers), twisting his insides painfully until what little he managed to eat rushes to his throat and he retches, pale hands clutching tightly at the rim of the trash bin. 

 

-

 

What none of them expected was that after death they’ll have to learn how to live again once more.

 

It’s a long and inane process. Most of the time Shuichi doesn’t think that there was even any progress to begin with, despite the encouraging always-too-wide smile of their therapist as she praises them all for their hard work.

 

“Dying is easy,” observes Shuichi during one of their group therapy sessions. “Living is harder.”

 

And then he instantly regrets these words when Kaede snorts at his observation and points out that out of all of them he’s the one who knows the least about death.

 

“You never _died._ Don’t talk like you do. You did lead some of us to our death beds after all,” she snarls at him and her words carry enough venom to make him shudder and excuse himself, leaving the room hurriedly much to their therapist’s displeasure.

 

Even despite the fact that Kaede’s words ring with truth he can’t help but feel like he did die, even if just a little. Or maybe he’s still dying.

 

He dies a little bit inside every time he sees her, his heart clenching painfully whenever his eyes meet hers only to see disgust and anger in its rawest form in them. He dies a little bit inside when he drags his tired eyes over the ashen faces of the other participants of the fifty-third season of Danganronpa. He dies a little bit inside whenever he sees his own face during the reruns of the show and he feels like screaming, if only to drown out his own voice coming from the TV.

 

-

 

Days blend in the longer he stays in the hospital, the routine of meals interspersed with individual and group therapy that he follows with mechanical precision. Most of the time he tries to not think. He remembers Kokichi’s words, the ones about hitting a reset button on his feelings and he does just that. One reset button for his emotions, another one for memories and the last one for thoughts. It’s easier that way. Safer. He spends as much time in his room as possible, surrounded by white, white from every side.

 

He knows that he should consider himself lucky. His body recovers faster than the other participants of the game, a perk of being a survivor and not having to deal with the trauma of your brain being tricked into believing that he died. During dinner he finds himself staring at the ghostly pale face of Kokichi as the boy pokes his food with a plastic fork. Shuichi hasn’t seen him take even a single bite.

 

Somehow the ex-supreme leader manages to look worse and worse with every day. Kaito hovers behind him worriedly, guilt written all over his face. Kokichi doesn’t seem to have the strength to shush the other boy away, instead letting him invade his personal space, the constant annoying buzz of Kaito’s worry in his ear.

 

Shuichi isn’t sure if this ugly roaring monster in his chest is pity or jealousy.

 

_(spring)_

 

Kaito makes them move together into his apartment as soon as they can leave the hospital, because of course he does. Even outside the game he seems to be determined to uphold his heroic persona from the game, no matter how fake it truly is. Shuichi can admire that, if only because it gives him an excuse to do the same thing and keep the personality provided him by Team Danganronpa. He likes this version of Kaito anyway. Just like he prefers the one he got himself.

 

He doesn’t mourn the old Shuichi, the one that died the moment he signed his name on the contract shoved into his hands by one of the Team Danganronpa representatives. If there’s one good thing that came out of this sick mess is that it opened his eyes wide enough to see his old self in all of its disgusting glory. All he wants to do now is to bury that Shuichi, the one with drool dripping down his chin and crazed eyes and Danganronpa merch scattered all across his room and–  

 

 _Easier said than done_ , he thinks bitterly as he stares at his own reflection grinning wildly back at him in Kaito’s crammed little bathroom.

 

And then the next thing he knows is that Kaito is patiently removing bloodstained shards of glass from his pale trembling hand. The ex-astronaut’s grip on his wrist is firm and comforting. It’s weirdly grounding and he allows himself to take a shuddering breath, his vision swimming. He thinks he says something, probably apologizing for the mess he made to Kaito, but he honestly doesn’t feel sorry, not really. There is a sense of satisfaction in the fact that he smashed this stupid grin to pieces.

 

He thinks he sees Kokichi’s frail form peeking through the gap in the door, but he’s gone in a blink of an eye and Shuichi is left wondering whether he was ever there in the first place or if it was just his imagination playing tricks on him again. It happens more often than he would like to admit, so he wouldn’t be surprised.

 

He wonders if Kokichi likes the version of him that they gave him better.

 

-

 

The days are slow and they seem to drag on almost painfully.

 

Kokichi doesn’t really leave his room much, instead choosing to stay curled up on his bed and staring at the wall, at the place where the wallpaper refuses to stick neatly to the wall. The tick-tock sound of the clock on said wall drives him crazy, but he refuses to stand up and take the batteries out of the damned thing. It’s a peculiar kind of torture.

 

Every now and then Kaito comes to check up on him, eyes brimming with determination that makes him sick, makes him feel like averting his eyes, because how can someone be naive enough to believe that they can improve, that one day they can just go on with their lives as if nothing bad had happened to them.

 

But it _did_ happen.

 

That’s the worst part. It did happen and not even his best and most convincing lies can change that. He brought his disgusting, suicidal self to the studio, he auditioned with a smile plastered to his face and then he signed the contract with Death itself using his own hand and a pen he fished out of his worn out school-bag.

 

And the whole world seems to be hell-bent on reminding him in his every waking moment that _yes_ , this indeed happened. Sometimes it’s something obvious, like a brightly colored keychain attached to someone’s bag, a familiar logo flashing before his eyes. Other times it’s his own face gazing at him from the TV or a monitor, lips twisted in a malicious smile and eyes wide open. Alert. Paranoid. But most often it’s something simple, something small. Something that leaves him disoriented and blinking rapidly to chase away the tears threatening to spill from under his eyelids, his throat burning at the memory. Like the gentle caress of Shuichi’s fingertips as the ex-detective tries to flick a speck of dust from his eyelashes and his fingers accidentally brush against his forehead. In a way that they never did in this other reality when the nightmarishly pink blood was dripping down his face after he fell through the floor. Or the way Kaito looks at him sometimes, as if he’s some fragile broken thing that needs to be protected and treated with care. As if he’s this boy from the hangar, shivering and feverish, asking for one last kiss before it’s all over.

 

He hates himself for it. He despises those memories, hates the fact that they keep resurfacing in the worst possible of moments only to remind him that he went through hell only to wake up in another. Sometimes the line between those two types of hell gets blurry and he honestly can’t say that this new one is easier to live in than the other one.

 

So when he reaches for his tablet and flicks it open to the photo taken during the auditions he knows that the only thing he can expect is this bitter burning in his chest. He takes a good long look at the picture, eyes following the contours of his own face, skin pale and eyes big and naive, open wide and filled with something confusingly similar to hope.

 

He has no respect and no sympathy for that sickly-looking nervous kid that used to wear his face and believed that at least in death maybe he will matter for once. It simply just disgusted him.

 

But if there’s a thing that disgusts him even more than that weak excuse of a person that he was before - it’s this Kokichi that emerged from the killing game and all of his fake smiles and even faker tears.

 

It’s a good thing that Shuichi broke the only mirror in the house.

 

-

 

The change comes with the end of spring and Shuichi finds it oddly fitting, at least as far as symbolism is concerned.

 

“Man, who thought that Momota-chan would fall for something dumb like that,” drawls Kokichi tapping his fingers on the cold surface of their kitchen countertop. He sounds almost like his old killing game self and Shuichi can’t decide if this tight feeling in his chest is relief or dread.

 

Kaito is standing before the two of them, liquid chocolate slowly dribbling down his face. He’s also covered with colorful sprinkles and all in all he looks like some kind of human cupcake disaster, all in courtesy of Kokichi’s prank.

 

To Shuichi’s utmost surprise Kaito doesn’t yell. He doesn’t raise his voice or chase Kokichi around their little apartment or punch their smaller roommate right between these doll-like eyes of his. Instead, he smiles. That genuine smile that used to mean so much to Shuichi back in the game, when the encouragement and faith brimming in the mauvish of those eyes was enough to plant a seed of hope in his heart. Now those eyes are looking at Kokichi with such an intensity that Shuichi feels like averting his gaze. Like maybe he’s not meant to see it.

 

“Hah, you really got me this time!” Says Kaito and he seems to mean it when he blinks away the chocolate from his eyes. He even reaches his hand and ruffles Kokichi’s hair affectionately before the other boy has a chance to move away and avoid the intrusive touch.

 

Kokichi’s expression blanks completely. It’s suddenly so devoid of emotion that Shuichi has to fight the urge to take a step back, the feeling of uneasiness coiling in his stomach.

 

Kokichi swats Kaito’s hand away and leaves the room wordlessly and as fast as his legs can carry him.

 

_(summer)_

 

“Let’s go see the ocean.” Says Kaito one day in June --- or maybe it’s July already? --- and just like that - the decision is made.

 

Kokichi only shrugs at the idea, but for a second there his eyes seem a little less dull, a faint fleeting glint making them light up momentarily.

 

To his right Shuichi hums quietly and then looks at Kaito with a soft almost-smile on his face.

 

“I think I would like that,” he says finally, voice quiet but firm.

 

Kaito pumps his fist in the air triumphantly.

 

“Yeah! That’s what I wanted to hear!” He beams at them and for the first time in a long time it doesn’t look forced.

 

And so the next day, after noon, the three of them find themselves crammed in Kaito’s small car, Kokichi and Shuichi squished in the back seat with bags full of towels, bottles of water and homemade sandwiches between them. Kaito turns on the radio and sings out of tune the whole way to the beach. Kokichi sits leaning on the glass of the window, doll-like eyes looking out the window and disinterestedly watching as the scenery passes by right before his eyes. Shuichi has a book open in his lap, but most of the time he just stares at the words long enough that they become a mess of black stains standing out strikingly against the yellowing paper it lays upon.

 

It’s a calm day. Cloudy, but all three of them like it cloudy. It means less people to worry about, less stares. They spend most of the day just sitting on the beach, sand cold under their hands and feet, wind playing with their hair. The water that gathers around their ankles when they dare to come closer to the ocean is freezing and Kaito lets out a high girlish squeal when a wave crashes against his calves.

 

They collect shells washed ashore for a long time and stop only when Kokichi finally declares that he’s bored and Kaito’s stomach rumbles with hunger. They find a nice spot on the beach and Shuichi reaches into his bag to get out the sandwiches, comfortable silence stretching between them as they eat.

 

“When I was little,” starts Kaito when he swallows the last bit of his sandwich, a clear note of hesitance in his voice. If Kokichi didn’t know any better he would say that the ex-astronaut sounds almost shy. “When I was little I used to go to the ocean all the time. My grandparents would take me there whenever I had, ah... “ he scratches his neck, the look on his face uncharacteristically sheepish. “Um, let’s just say that I had some, uh, aggression problems. I wasn’t dealing very well with the fact that my parents were no longer around. So my grandparents used to take me to all these different places so I couldn’t have time to be sad or angry or whatever. And since we lived near the ocean we would often go to the beach. It’s actually how I discovered that I love stars. It’s one of the things that they kept true, I guess.” A shadows passes across his face but it disappears as quickly as it appeared. “Anyway, one day I stayed up on the beach really late and I didn’t even notice it when nighttime came. And when I looked up the sky was full of stars and the ocean was like, reflecting them and it was nice and quiet and I knew that one day I want to reach them. I didn't really understand that being an astronaut is a hard work. I just wanted to see them up close."

 

Kaito’s smiling now, face bright and eyes glimmering, stare fixed on the waves as they crash on the shore. He looks younger, somehow, Kokichi notes with silent amazement. And then he immediately curses himself internally. _Maybe it’s how he would look like normally_ , he thinks with a pang of bitterness. _Maybe that’s how all of us would look like if only we made different choices in the past._

 

Maybe with time they would have grown out of this Danganronpa phase --- if it can be even called that --- and became actual functioning citizens.

 

Yeah, _as if._

 

He fidgets next to Kaito, who’s still rambling about his childhood, every story getting progressively more boring than the other. Shuichi sits on Kaito’s other side with a gentle smile on his face. One that feels almost sincere.

 

He looks younger, too. Kokichi can taste bile in his throat.

 

He stands up abruptly, startling both his companions.

 

“Kokichi?” Says Shuichi in a way that feels like a question. The unspoken “are you alright?” lingering in the air.

 

 _Wow, did you switch bodies with Momota-chan, only he would ask stupid question like that_ , Kokichi wants to say, feeling weirdly bratty all of sudden, but he bites his tongue. He shakes his head instead.

 

“I’m gonna look for more shells!” He announces, struggling to keep his voice cheerful and upbeat and then skips back to the freezing cold water, refusing to look back and see their concerned faces.

 

This summer feels deeply cold in a way that has nothing to do with the recent rains.

 

-

 

One day when Shuichi’s away at therapy an exceptionally big and exceptionally ugly cockroach pays them a visit. Armed with a broom and a not very helpful Kokichi - Kaito declares war on their uninvited guest.

 

Kaito swings the broom at the pest with flourish and a sense of satisfaction spreads in his chest only to disappear when mere seconds later the six-legged insect is rushing in his direction on the white tiles. Kaito jumps out of its way with a loud girlish squeal. He turns to Kokichi to remind him that he was supposed to help but he freezes when he sees the bastard giggling from where he is perched on the kitchen counter.

 

“What’s so funny?” frowns Kaito.

 

“Oh, nothing, Momota-chan. It’s just that this little buddy reminds me of someone I know.”

 

It takes Kaito a moment to realize that he’s referring to the cockroach. He scratches his neck, uncertain. “Yeah? Who?”

 

“Me!” Declares Kokichi with a fake cheer as he starts to swing his legs.

 

“You?” Kaito’s frown deepens. “How?”

 

“I also couldn’t seem to die,” says Kokichi cheekily as the sinister looking smile stretches slowly over his pale lips. One that reminds Kaito of the ones he had seen many times on a daily basis months --- or maybe it was a lifetime? --- ago.

 

Kaito’s mouth goes dry and he opens it and then closes, unsure how he can respond to something like that. Normally he would yell at him. He would say something like “don’t go saying shit like that, dude!” or maybe “that’s bullshit and you know it!”. Some part of him wants to do that, but he fights his initial instinct and swallows the words before they have a chance to spill out of his mouth.

 

After all, he hasn’t seen Kokichi looking this alive in a long time.

 

_(autumn)_

 

They celebrate Halloween. It goes about as well as expected.

 

It’s Kaito who suggests it, because that’s yet another thing that Kaito just _does,_ and after a moment of hesitation Shuichi simply nods his head, smiles at Kaito softly and agrees that it’s a good idea. Because that’s what Shuichi does.

 

Kokichi’s face goes blank at first in this way that never fails to make Shuichi shudder, if only a little. It’s like looking at a porcelain doll, beautiful in it’s emotionless state, but also stridently empty. And then slowly, creepily, a smile blossoms on Kokichi’s face.

 

“Sooo~! We get to dress up, riiight?” He tilts his head to the side, looking at Kaito questioningly.

 

The ex-astronaut visibly hesitates, as if sensing the trap in the smaller boy’s voice. It passes quickly, however, as he seems to choose to trust him due to the occasion, and soon enough he’s beaming at Kokichi, excitement in his eyes.

 

“We sure as hell do!” he says excitedly. “I already know what costume I want to wear and you better think about something cool, too, ‘kay?”

 

Kokichi’s lips stretch into a devilish grin.

 

“Oh, I sure will.”

 

The weeks pass by fast and when the evening of the judgement day comes Kokichi rushes to the bathroom and slams the door behind him with a resonating thud. He spends nearly an hour there and Shuichi winces at every occasional noise that seeps through the thin door, unexplained anxiety spreading through his veins. He don't know what to expect but all of his instincts are screaming at him that it can't be good. 

 

When the door finally opens and Kokichi appears before them there’s a loud choking sound and Shuichi barely registers the fact that it came out of his own mouth. Kaito stands frozen next to him, motionless as shock paints his face white when the realization slowly sinks in.

 

The first thing Shuichi's confused brain registers is a checkered scarf wrapped around Kokichi’s neck. The memory of holding it in his hands, soaked with toilet water is burned in Shuichi’s memory. The boy before him is wearing a white outfit that weirdly resembles a straitjacket, the costume of the Ultimate Supreme Leader impossible to be mistaken for anything else. It's exactly like Shuichi remembers it. There are specks of bright pink paint on his clothes - one on his right arm and the other, bigger, on his back. Shuichi notices it only because Kokichi makes a perfect twirl when he enters the room. The paint is also dripping down his face and when Shuichi blinks he can see a different hallway, one with wooden floorboards and ghosts of people he used to know hovering in the corners.  

 

“It’s the day of the dead after all!” Declares Kokichi cheerfully, as if announcing a good news. “And we’re all dead here!”

 

“K-kokichi!” Shuichi sounds almost scandalized, a look of wordless disbelief on his face.

 

“Ah, right!” Kokichi nods and taps a pale fingers against his lips as if he's deep in thought. “ We’re all dead here _except_ for the mister survivor over there.”

 

And then he laughs, that horse-like ugly sound that Shuichi hears in his dreams so often.

 

It sounds oddly hollow.

 

Kaito storms out of the room, while the wide smile plastered on Kokichi’s face only grows and grows and yet never reaches his eyes.

 

He turns to Shuichi.

 

“Too soon?”

 

Needless to say, Kaito and Shuichi never get a chance to wear their costumes and the door to Kaito’s room remains closed shut for the rest of the night, no matter how many times Shuichi knocks and calls out his name.

 

_(winter)_

 

Shuichi remembers that he used to love winter.

 

Long evenings of staying curled up under the fluffy comfort of his favorite blanket, holding a steaming mug with silly cartoon-ish cats warm and sweet in his hands as his eyes never leave the monitor full of bright and colorful characters parading on the screen to their deaths.  

 

This winter is nothing like those however, for better or for worse.

 

It feels like this last year passed in a second, even if it felt like ages. He doesn’t know what to make out of that observation. He still remembers it clearly, the slow, dreadful realization of ‘ _it was all a lie and now I have to live with it_ ’. He would like to believe that this year helped him recover - helped all three of them recover - but he’s not optimistic enough to do so, not when he dry-swallows a handful of pills three times a day and spends too much time staring at a single spot on one of the walls where the paint is peeling off. He feels damaged, long thin scars spread under his skin where even Kaito’s gentle smiles and warm hands can’t reach.

 

Sometimes he can’t take it. Sometimes he feels like screaming when Kaito brings him dinner in bed and in his never-ending patience doesn’t say a word about how he’s been there for days. Or when Kokichi’s laughter gets all harsh and his words get coated with a thick layer of self-deprecation. Sometimes both sound and silence become too quiet and too loud respectively. And sometimes he stares at the kitchen knives for a minute too long.

 

He’s been told that time heals all wounds but no one ever told him how long exactly he has to wait for that to happen. Whenever he feels like he’s getting better sooner or later it feels like he’s shattering into pieces all over again. Like how he instinctively wants to flee to his room whenever Kokichi’s face turns unreadable, lips pursed and eyes empty and guilt tastes like bile in Shuichi’s throat. Or how he can’t quite stop the anxious fluttering of his heart whenever the sound of Kaito’s coughs reaches his ears, even after the doctor assures him that it’s just a common cold. It’s like a knee-jerk reaction, one that he can’t suppress even if he wishes that he could.

 

But there are also days when he lets this flimsy spark of hope settle in his chest. The New Year happens to be one such day.

 

Shuichi stands still while Kokichi struggles to tie the sash of the kimono around his waist, his tongue sticking out of his mouth and a look of concentration on his face. They are almost ready.  He smiles gently when Kaito enters the room, the mauvish red kimono matching the color of his eyes and holding a small packet of cold sparklers that he bought upon Kokichi’s insistence in his hand.

 

“Hey, hurry up! We are already late and I’m getting hungry.”

 

Shuichi looks at Kokichi to check if he finished and is met with a short nod from the other boy.

 

“Yeah, I think we can go now,” says Shuichi patting the silky material of the kimono with his left hand, as if checking if everything is as it should be. Having assessed that everything is okay he extends his other hand to Kokichi. It hovers in the air for a moment. Lilac eyes find golden ones, the expression on Kokichi’s face wiped clean until it slowly, hesitantly turns into something almost shy and clammy fingers intertwine with Shuichi’s cold ones.

 

Maybe they are all damaged. And maybe they will stay damaged for a long time. But Kokichi’s hand in his is warm when they are pushing through the crowd and Kaito’s eyes sparkle when the dark firmament of the night sky lights up with fireworks in all the colors of the rainbow.

 

Yes, they are damaged but maybe one day they won’t be.

 

If not this year then maybe the next one.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Because as long as they’re together it doesn’t matter how many years it takes ;_;
> 
> Yeah, I like to think that they left the game in late autumn or winter and I used this headcanon here in order to show this symbolism of changing seasons. I'm sorry that it took so long, I had most of it written in August but I just couldn't finish some parts, so I decided to wait and finish it later. Also, life happened. And some university stuff. I had a lot on my head in general. I really hope you liked it, though!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr (@golden-redhead) if you ever want to talk or scream at me or something like that!


End file.
